XXV

His conversation with the president and the fresh air quieted Nekhlúdoff a little. He now thought that the feelings experienced by him had been exaggerated by the unusual surroundings in which he had spent the whole of the morning, and by that wonderful and startling coincidence. Still, it was absolutely necessary to take some steps to lighten Máslova’s fate, and to take them quickly. “Yes, at once! It will be best to find out here in the court where the advocate Fanárin or Mikíshin lives.” These were two well-known advocates whom Nekhlúdoff called to mind. He returned to the court, took off his overcoat, and went upstairs. In the first corridor he met Fanárin himself. He stopped him, and told him that he was just going to look him up on a matter of business.

Fanárin knew Nekhlúdoff by sight and name, and said he would be very glad to be of service to him.

“Though I am rather tired, still, if your business will not take very long, perhaps you might tell me what it is now. Will you step in here?” And he led Nekhlúdoff into a room, probably some judge’s cabinet. They sat down by the table.

“Well, and what is your business?”

“First of all, I must ask you to keep the business private. I do not want it known that I take an interest in the affair.”

“Oh, that of course. Well?”

“I was on the jury today, and we have condemned a woman to Siberia, an innocent woman. This bothers me very much.” Nekhlúdoff, to his own surprise, blushed and became confused. Fanárin glanced at him rapidly, and looked down again, listening.

“Well?”

“We have condemned a woman, and I should like to appeal to a higher court.”

“To the Senate, you mean,” said Fanárin, correcting him.

“Yes, and I should like to ask you to take the case in hand.” Nekhlúdoff wanted to get the most difficult part over, and added, “I shall take the costs of the case on myself, whatever they may be.”

“Oh, we shall settle all that,” said the advocate, smiling with condescension at Nekhlúdoff’s inexperience in these matters. “What is the case?”

Nekhlúdoff stated what had happened.

“All right. I shall look the case through tomorrow or the day after⁠—no⁠—better on Thursday. If you will come to me at six o’clock I will give you an answer. Well, and now let us go; I have to make a few inquiries here.”

Nekhlúdoff took leave of him and went out. This talk with the advocate, and the fact that he had taken measures for Máslova’s defence, quieted him still further. He went out into the street. The weather was beautiful, and he joyfully drew in a long breath of spring air. He was at once surrounded by isvóstchiks offering their services, but he went on foot. A whole swarm of pictures and memories of Katúsha and his conduct to her began whirling in his brain, and he felt depressed and everything appeared gloomy. “No, I shall consider all this later on; I must now get rid of all these disagreeable impressions,” he thought to himself.

He remembered the Korchágin’s dinner and looked at his watch. It was not yet too late to get there in time. He heard the ring of a passing tramcar, ran to catch it, and jumped on. He jumped off again when they got to the marketplace, took a good isvóstchik, and ten minutes later was at the entrance of the Korchágins’ big house.